


like father like son

by enamuko



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: (like for fun not for sex), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crossdressing, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Gen, Hubert's parents are mentioned but they never actually show up, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Political AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:08:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25015984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enamuko/pseuds/enamuko
Summary: Hubert von Vestra's life has never been easy, but his parents have always striven to make it even more difficult than it already had to be. It's his mother's turn, sending him an email telling him she's planning to reveal a long-kept secret about their family-- specifically one involving Hubert's uncle Iago.
Relationships: Background Bernadetta von Varley/Hubert von Vestra, Macbeth | Iago & Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. why would i check my email

**Author's Note:**

> I am an unapologetic Iago fangirl and I was so excited to finally be able to write something about Iago being a part of Hubert's family. This was written as a gift for a very close friend, but let's face it: I'm mostly just happy they gave me an excuse to finally put these two goth fools together in one room.

Hubert stared at the email.

After so long, it almost seemed like the email was staring back at him.

If anyone walked by his office, they wouldn’t have thought anything was amiss; Hubert von Vestra sitting at his desk and staring at his computer was a common enough sight, and there were few people who would think to disturb him—

There was a soft knock at his door.

Hubert almost jumped out of his seat, instinctively closing his laptop. He hadn’t expected anyone to drop by his office— but his confusion and momentary suspicion disappeared when he saw familiar purple hair through the semi-frosted privacy door of his office.

He moved thoughts of the email to the back of his mind as he reached for the buzzer on his desk that would unlock the door. Bernadetta slipped inside quickly as soon as she heard the tell-tale buzzing noise, opening the door just enough to sidle inside and closing it immediately behind her.

It was hard to tell whether that was her own fear and paranoia at work, or her respect of his own, but he supposed it didn’t matter.

“Bernadetta,” he said, settling back in his chair, letting himself relax— just slightly— knowing it was just her. “Did you need something?”

It might not have been the nicest way to address someone, but anyone who had known Hubert for as long as she had would be used to it. He just liked to get to the point as quickly as possible.

“N-not really,” she replied, then showed him what she was carrying, holding it out like a peace offering. Coffee— not the cheap stuff from the lunch room, but one of her travel mugs, no doubt filled with his favourite brew from home. “Just… Thought I would bring you this. Y-you weren’t answering your phone, so I thought you might… Need some.”

Hubert blinked, taking a second too long to process what she was saying, before he came back to reality suddenly with the smallest shake of his head. “...Thank you, Bernadetta.”

She took that as an invitation to come forward and offer him the travel mug when he didn’t get up from his desk— he was, in fact, busy digging through the top drawer of his desk to find his personal phone.

His work phone was on his person at all times, of course, and he never took more than a moment to answer it unless he absolutely couldn’t. He was… Getting _better_ at remembering to check his personal phone, something he hadn’t even bothered with for most of his life since everyone who would need to contact him already had his work number, but. Things were different now. Supposedly.

Of course, he was going to give himself the benefit of the doubt this time; he’d been distracted by that damned email.

When she got close to the desk, he rose to meet her, realizing how rude it was of him to stay sitting there the entire time. It was certainly not his best day…

Bernadetta set the travel mug on the edge of his desk and moved in to wrap her arms around him and tuck her head against his chest. It was a far cry from what she was like when they first met— although she was still meek and shy, she didn’t flee from the first sign of attention… Or the first sign of _him_ in general.

Quite the opposite, actually.

“Hubert…” She sounded confused, and a little concerned. He only realized why when her hands, which had been resting on his back, started moving soothingly— and he realized his muscles were so tense that it was almost like he was clenching them, and she was feeling the almost knots.

“It’s been a long day,” he sighed, trying to relax as best he could— even with the little pang of guilt over the fact that, although he wasn’t _lying_ , he also wasn’t telling her the whole truth.

Since he still didn’t know what he was going to do about what he’d read, though… He didn’t want to be talking about it too soon, especially to someone who wasn’t involved. He didn’t want to hide things from her. He just wanted to be certain before he said anything.

“W-well… At least you’ve been having less of those lately,” Bernadetta said, smiling up at him in a way he was pretty sure was supposed to be encouraging. Bernadetta had a lovely smile— but like Petra had once said in a well-meaning way, she _did_ always kind of look like a frightened animal. “It’s getting late, though… Are you going to stay, or…?”

Hubert knew Bernadetta wasn’t the manipulative type; she could hardly ask for a simple favour without immediately retracting the request and begging for forgiveness, although she had gotten better since their university days, when she had been in an almost constant state of panic.

Still, even if he knew it wasn’t on _purpose_ , he found himself wondering if there was some way to bottle Bernadetta’s puppy eyes so he could find some way to use them in negotiations. He was pretty sure he’d never seen anything more convincing in his life.

“I think… I’ve done enough work for today,” he said, even though saying something like that, even _thinking_ of it, was almost unthinkable to him. There was always more work to do, always some new excuse he could find not to go home…

But at least he now had something to go home to, beyond an empty apartment. That certainly helped.

“Let me just pack up my things and get my coat.” He unwrapped his arms from around her so he could cup her face in his hands and press a kiss gently to the top of her head. He wasn’t big on public displays of affection, and neither was Bernadetta— but in the privacy of his office, well. He could handle that. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“A-alright.” Bernadetta was blushing, even from a simple kiss, not even to the lips, even though they had been together for more than a year— and engaged now for several months

Hubert found it… _Sweet_. And that wasn’t a word he used to describe things often. Not sincerely, at any rate.

Bernadetta lingered only a second longer before scurrying out of his office and heading downstairs to wait for him. Only once the door had closed behind her and he couldn’t see her through the frosted glance did he release the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in the entire time and drag a hand down his face.

He reached for the coffee she’d brought him and took a well-deserved sip as he rounded his desk and started gathering his things. His eyes were immediately drawn to his laptop. He’d shoved his thoughts on the email he’d received into the back of his mind, Bernadetta being much more important, but now that he was alone again it crept forward. If she hadn’t shown up, he probably could have spent the rest of the evening sitting there staring at it, contemplating the best course of action.

Of course, while Hubert was always a big advocate of careful planning over reckless action, he knew that _too_ much planning could get you trapped, leaving your wheels spinning in place. Eventually, action was very much necessary.

So as he gathered up his coat, shoved his laptop and several important documents into his shoulder bag, and double checked to make sure nothing had been left out or left unlocked, he reached for his seldom-used personal phone— feeling a few pangs of guilt at the missed calls and texts from Bernadetta over the past few hours— and tapped out a number that he had memorized, but didn’t keep in his contacts or written down anywhere. Even though this was his personal phone and not his work phone, he knew better. He thought about calling— but given the hour, he was sure they would still be working, so he opted for a text message instead.

_I got an interesting email from my mother today. Call me. We need to talk._

Even though he knew the other person wouldn’t have his number in his phone either, he didn’t bother putting his name anywhere. They would know who it was from.

He shoved his personal phone into his bag and his work phone into his coat pocket, slung his bag over his shoulder, and headed for the door.

On his way to the elevator, he nearly walked straight into Ferdinand— in fact, he was stopped only because _Ferdinand_ looked up from the papers he was perusing at just the right moment to stop himself and step neatly out of the way, where Hubert stopped a step too late and would have walked directly into him.

“You’re in an awful hurry tonight, Hubert,” he said, all cheer and smiles even though his hair was pulled back into a ponytail, his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his suit jacket had been forgotten somewhere— all the tell tale signs of a long day with no end in sight. “Where are you off to?”

Something heavy nestled into the pit of his stomach— three parts guilt to one part competitive frustration. Going all the way back to their college days he’d always mocked Ferdinand’s intense need to compete with everyone about everything, although these days he usually meant that mockery with fondness rather than contempt. But still… Hubert couldn’t deny that he took a certain kind of _pride_ in being the first person to arrive and the last to leave.

“Bernadetta came to get me,” he said, taking a sip of the coffee she’d brought him to remind him why he was trying to stop thinking that way. “I think she’s worried I’m working too hard.”

“And she would be right!” Ferdinand beamed at him, forever the brilliant ray of sunshine of Edelgard’s personal staff. His one-time enemy and current best friend clapped him on the shoulder like he was congratulating him for something. “Go home, enjoy your evening, get some rest. Your work will still be here when you get back.”

It was the same thing Ferdinand and everyone else— Edelgard included— had been telling him for years, and only now was it starting to sink in, even though he always felt an immediate resistance to the _thought_ of taking time for himself. Especially when he knew there was still work to be done— there was _always_ still work to be done.

“I can hear the gears turning in your head,” Ferdinand said with the exact tone of a mother who could tell her child was about to get into trouble. He tucked the files he was holding under one arm so he could literally put his hands on Hubert’s shoulders and _steer_ him towards the elevators. “Get out of here already. I’ll make sure everything is taken care of in your absence. Besides, Lorenz gets in next week, so you’ll have plenty of time to make it up to me.”

“I wasn’t worried about that,” Hubert replied immediately, but as Ferdinand practically shoved him into the elevator, he turned and gave him a genuine smile before the doors closed.

It was… _Nice_ , having people around who were better at taking care of him than he was at taking care of himself.

The thought was almost enough to distract him from the unpleasant phone call he knew he’d be having later.

“No further questions.”

The assembled press ignored his statement like it was a polite suggestion, but he was used to that. Rather than give them the satisfaction of acknowledging the litany of questions they were barely-coherently spewing at him from their seats, some even behaving more like paparazzi than serious political journalists as they got out of their seats to thrust their microphones towards the podium, he simply turned on his heel and walked off, disappearing behind the curtain with the ease of _many_ years of practice.

“Another excellent job tonight.” He took the offered bottle of water without even registering who was handing it to him, or what he was saying; his head was still buzzing with both the sound of questions (even though the curtain had fallen behind him and was mostly drowning them out) and with the adrenaline that always came with a public appearance.

Iago Macbeth von Vestra was damn good at his job, and he never quailed or quaked at a chance to show it off— in fact, he _revelled_ in it.

Zola smiled at him— half a triumphant grin, half a nervous watery smile like he wasn’t sure whether Iago was about to yell at him. Which was a pretty normal expression for Zola, who wavered back and forth between absolute confidence and crumbling self-depreciation like he was stuck on a see-saw with a hated relative.

“Of course it was,” Iago said after he had finished drinking half the bottle in one go— a combination of the speaking itself, the same adrenaline, and the heat of the impossibly bright lights they always used. “Everyone always tries to make my life as difficult as possible, but I’ll always rise to the challenge.”

The most recent issue being yet another instance of scandal involving one of Garon’s children— not something so simple as sex or drugs, no. They couldn’t make his life easy. The media circuit seeing all of the ways in which Garon’s children directly opposed almost every one of their father’s political movements was a much more difficult thing to address, but like Iago said, there was no challenge too great for him.

Zola spouted off a few more of his usual compliments that Iago only half heard, trotting along behind him and burying his nose in his phone like he’s already going to be getting notifications even though they’ve barely even finished the conference. Iago resisted the urge to smack the phone out of his hand, the same way he’d resisted that urge time and time again for the last ten years they’d been working together. Everyone had their own rituals— Iago’s happened to involve completely ignoring anything the press had to say about him for at least an hour after one of his appearances, unless something absolutely pressing happened to come up, which was where Zola and his obsessive phone checking came in.

For now, though, Iago was unreachable— by anyone but Garon, of course. Anyone who wanted further comment could go through Zola to arrange a proper follow up or, more likely, go fuck themselves. He had no patience for their idiocy— they were hounds scrounging for scraps, for anything they could use to tear Garon down, and it seemed like his children were always happy to help in that regard.

Iago stepped into the elevator that carried the two of them down to the parking garage. Zola was either eagerly texting someone or already preparing a follow-up statement; either way, he was humming in a way that Iago both found annoying (because Zola couldn’t carry a tune to save his life) and pleasant (because Zola only ever hummed like that when he was in high, confident spirits, which told him he had absolutely nothing to worry about— Zola was far more jumpier and far more fearful than he was, so if even _he_ thought there was nothing to worry about, you could trust it).

Hans was already waiting for him with the car, leaning back against it with a cigarette in one hand and his phone in the other— and Iago had the distinct feeling he was doing something a lot less useful than Zola with his.

He cleared his throat— loudly, maybe a bit over dramatic, but Iago had never been one to pretend he _wasn’t_ hilariously over dramatic. He’d built his career on two things; a dramatic personality, and an unwavering sense of loyalty.

Anyone else who was caught standing around not doing their job might have reacted like a sensible person and snapped to attention. Hans instead lazily looked up from his phone, grinned at Iago, and stopped to take a long drag of his cigarette before dropping it to the floor and grinding it out under his shoe.

“Ready to head out, boss man?” he asked, and Iago didn’t even bother dignifying that with a response.

Hans climbed into the driver’s seat, and Zola scampered forward to open the back door for him. 

Only when Iago was inside the car— Zola scrambling to get around to the other side and climb in beside him— did he let himself fully relax. When he was on the job, he couldn’t afford to show the slightest sign of weakness; he was, after all, Garon’s first line of defense against his detractors and opponents. He depended on him to keep his operation running smoothly and make sure no one got in their way.

The past few days, though— they had, quite frankly, been _exhausting_. Iago would endure absolutely anything for Garon— he had proven that time and time again— but his body could only hold out so long, and so he was glad that, at least until one of Garon’s kids did something _else_ incredibly stupid, the worst of it was over and he could actually _relax_.

He wasn’t very good at relaxing, but— sometimes you had to do what you had to do.

Iago let the sound of Zola’s babbling and the terrible screeching music Hans had playing form an almost pleasant sort of background noise as he let himself melt into the leather seats, his eyes feeling suddenly heavy. They were at least fifteen minutes from his condo complex, but obviously the blanket of exhaustion that had fallen over him was happy to make him lose time, because it felt like he had hardly blinked and they were already pulling up to the curb.

“Think you can make it upstairs yourself?” Hans asked, looking at him through the rearview mirror. “Or do you need one of us to carry you?”

“Focus on your day job, Hans,” Iago drawled as he climbed out of the car. “You’re not going to be a comedian any time soon.”

Hans’ laughter and Zola’s goodnights disappeared as the car pulled away from the curb, and despite what Iago had said, his every step felt like he was dragging a cement block behind him. It was always like that when the adrenaline drained away, though; a simple meal and a few hours of sleep and he would be fresh and ready to get back to work.

Iago’s condo was nothing special; he only needed a place to rest his head at the end of the day, and could hardly ever be found there. On his way up in the elevator he went through the list of things he needed to do before he could collapse into bed, starting with food (he was sure he had some leftover takeout in the fridge, but he’d survived on a protein bar dinner before and would do so again if he needed to) and a shower—

All of those plans were immediately derailed when he got inside, flipped on the light, and saw his personal phone steadily blinking at him from the coffee table where he’d left it.

Iago didn’t use his personal phone. He didn’t need to. Anyone who needed to get a hold of him already had his work number, and if it wasn’t for work related reasons, well. As far as he was concerned, they didn’t really need to get a hold of him. The number of people who even _had_ his personal number was...Well, able to be counted on one hand, for sure.

He crossed the room, heading straight for his phone without pause, feeling his heart rising into his throat. If someone was trying to get a hold of him on that line, it had to be important— and he was betting not good.

_I got an interesting email from my mother today. Call me. We need to talk._

Iago’s heart started beating again when he read that, but it was still beating faster than it _should_ have been.

There was no name associated with the phone number— but there didn’t need to be. He would have known who it belonged to just from the message.

He crossed back over to the front door to double and triple check that it was locked, then peeled off his suit jacket and undid his tie before dropping onto the couch. He stared at the message on his screen for a few seconds longer before deciding he’d stalled long enough— especially since the message had clearly been sitting there for some time before he’d even seen it.

He sighed, steeled his nerves, and hit the ‘call’ button.

It took five or six rings— enough for him to wonder if he shouldn’t just hang up and try calling the next day— before his call was answered.

_“Hello?”_

“I got your message.”

_“I figured as much.”_ There was shuffling, something muttered away from the phone that he couldn’t quite hear, and the sound of a door closing gently. _“I can forward you a copy of the email if you want, but I’m sure you can guess the contents.”_

Iago let out a noise halfway between a sigh and a growl as he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He would probably still need to see the email in question, just to cover all of his bases, but…

Yes, he _could_ quite easily guess its contents.

So much for getting a chance to rest.

“Has she given any kind of ultimatum? A due date for whatever stupid threat she’s making now?”

_“Not that she’s told me, but she’s never been an especially patient woman. I wouldn’t wait too long.”_

“I don’t plan on it.”

And that might have been that; he could have asked for a securely forwarded copy of the email to an email address that couldn’t be tied down to his work, and thanked him for alerting him to the issue, and hung up so he could start thinking about what he was actually going to _do_. But something stopped him from just… _Doing_ that.

He must have been silent for a couple seconds too long, because he heard, _“Hello? Are you still there?”_

“Sorry.” He took a deep breath and tilted his head back until his neck was resting against the back of the couch; terrible posture, but he was tired. So sue him. “Got lost in thought for a second. Did you say something?”

_“No, but…”_

“But…?”

_“But… I think we should meet up. Discuss this in person.”_

Hubert didn’t expect an answer right away when he sent that text message. He knew that if anyone was busier than him, it was Iago. They were in the same business, after all…

And considering who he worked for, he imagined Iago had his work cut out for him.

He and Bernadetta had already settled into bed for the night— Bernadetta working on her latest embroidery project, Hubert absorbed in a book that Linhardt had sent him months ago that he’d never quite found the time to read, all the jokes about the two of them looking like an old couple already made and laughed about— when his phone started going off.

“Is that work? This late?”

Bernadetta was frowning, and Hubert felt compelled to lean in and press a kiss to her temple before reaching for his phone where he’d left it on the nightstand.

“It’s not work,” he assured her. “Just a small family issue, nothing to worry about.”

Bernadetta didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t blame her; he’d told her almost nothing about his family except that he didn’t really have contact with them anymore, not since the huge blow up with his father in his senior year of university. But it was all very complicated and not something he felt like explaining right now.

He would tell her the details later; for now, he had to make sure everything was taken care of before it got completely out of hand.

So as to not let his phone go to voicemail, he picked up while he was still climbing out of bed. “Hello?”

_“I got your message.”_

Not so much as a greeting, but he knew the number, the voice, and the man behind both of them well enough that he didn’t care.

“I figured as much.”

He stepped out of his bedroom— his and Bernie’s bedroom, he supposed. He was still getting used to thinking of the apartment as _theirs_. She’d only been living there about a month, after her lease on her old place had finally come up, and after Hubert had worked up the courage to ask her to move in, even though they had been travelling back and forth and staying at each other’s places on a regular basis since they’d started dating.

It was all just… _Complicated_. It would get easier with time, he was sure. He just had a complex history with… Well, everything that was going on in his life at the moment.

“D-do you need me to…?”

“Don’t worry,” he said, turning the phone away so the microphone was pressed into his shoulder. “I’ll just be a minute.”

He closed the door behind him and walked down the hall, heading for the kitchen. He’d said that, but he expected that it might take him… A _while_ to settle in afterwards.

“I can forward you a copy of the email if you want,” he said as he reached the kitchen and turned on the coffee maker. Was making a cup of coffee at this time of night a good idea? Probably not, but he’d had worse. “But I’m sure you can guess the contents.”

He was sure the sender had intended to shock him with it, as if it weren’t something he had already known for years. But Hubert had never been the sort of person to remain so ill-informed. And for all that he could be dirty and underhanded to achieve his goals— something Hubert had always looked up to and tried to emulate, and even now held a lot of respect for, because Iago was willing to go to lengths for the senator that impressed even Hubert, who had dedicated most of his life to Edelgard— he had never tried to lie to him, or hide anything from him.

_You’re too smart for that, it would be pointless,_ he’d told him once, snorting. _And I don’t like to waste my time on pointless things._

Hubert had taken it as a compliment. He still did.

As the coffee machine gurgled to life, he heard Iago let out a deep sigh that was distorted by the phone line, followed by, _“Has she given any kind of ultimatum? A due date for whatever stupid threat she’s making now?”_

It wasn’t like they’d been in this exact situation before— they had artfully dodged it for quite some time now— so it was almost impressive, how easily they fell into step.

Not that he was surprised, really. He had learned everything he knew from Iago, after all.

“Not that she’s told me.” He leaned back against the counter, letting the sound of the coffee maker become a pleasant background noise. The smell that quickly followed was equally comforting. “But she’s never been an especially patient woman. I wouldn’t wait too long.”

_“I don’t plan on it.”_

Realistically, that could have been the end of Hubert’s involvement— he could have sent Iago a copy of the troubling email and washed his hands of the whole situation. After all, even though it was his mother who had started all of it, it wasn’t going to have any kind of negative impact on _his_ life if he just… Walked away from it.

A year or two ago, he probably would have. It wasn’t as though he owed Iago anything, and this situation was not his fault, and only involved him… _Tangentially_. Not so long ago he would have seen it as just another distraction keeping him from helping Edelgard with her campaign; he would have passed the message along to Iago, trusted him to take care of matters on his own, and said his work was done.

Now, though… The last year, and especially the time at the heated end of Edelgard’s campaign, had taught him a number of lessons. First among them was the fact that he wasn’t alone; there were others he could safely rely on.

Did Iago have that, he wondered? He suspected that if he did, the number would have been even smaller than Hubert’s.

He realized, suddenly, that he hadn’t heard anything except for the gurgling of his coffee maker and the sound of Iago’s frustrated breathing (and how he could convey frustration in breathing, Hubert didn’t quite understand, but he _could_ ) for a few long seconds and said, “Hello? Are you still there?”

_“Sorry.”_ Iago sighed from somewhere deep in his chest. _“Got lost in thought for a second. Did you say something?”_

“No, but…”

Was this really something he was willing to wade into? He rolled the thought around in his mind for a few moments. It certainly wouldn’t make his already hectic life easy— although, considering how things had been beginning to wind down the slightest fraction at the office, he had a little more wiggle room. He didn’t have to worry about everything absolutely exploding if he looked away from it for more than a few minutes. Edelgard was comfortably seated at the head of the Adrestian Council, secure until at least the next election, and though there was still plenty of work to do he wouldn’t be putting her entire campaign at risk.

_“But…?”_

Maybe it was just his imagination, but Iago sounded… Hopeful.

“But… I think we should meet up. Discuss this in person.”

He let that sit almost heavily in the air, waiting for Iago to respond. It wouldn’t have surprised him if he brushed him off completely. After all, he was a busy man…

_“...Alright. Can you meet me at The Outrealm tomorrow evening? Say, nine o’clock?”_

“Sounds good. I’ll see you there.”

_“Mm. Goodnight, Hubert.”_

“Goodnight, Iago.”

They were simple goodbyes, but they still left Hubert feeling… Strangely anxious?

Maybe it was just the fact that it would mean having to offer Bernadetta an explanation of what was going on. He intended to do so no matter what, of course— and he knew Bernadetta wouldn’t push him or force him to do so any quicker than he was comfortable with. But it wouldn’t be fair for him not to tell her what was going on, especially if he’d be disappearing randomly.

The coffee pot finished gurgling, and he poured himself a cup. No milk or sugar or cream— nothing to dilute the taste of the coffee itself. If he was smart, he would just go to bed… But he’d already made the coffee, and besides, he had plenty to think about, and plenty to do.

He did carry his freshly poured cup of coffee back to his bedroom, intending to say goodnight— it was too late for him to explain everything to Bernie, but he didn’t want her to worry if he didn’t come back to bed.

When he stepped into the room, he noticed immediately that Bernadetta was asleep— both lamps still on, on both his side of the bed and hers, and her needlework project still loosely held in her hand.

He couldn’t have been gone more than five minutes— she must have just been that tired, and yet trying to stay up with him to enjoy some rare peaceful time alone together.

He turned off the lamp on his side of the bed, then rounded to hers. Carefully, he took her embroidery hoop and needle from her hand and set them on the nightstand. As he leaned in to turn off the lamp on her side of the bed, he also leaned in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

Maybe it was just his imagination— it was dark, after all— but he swore her face relaxed a little as soon as he did.

He retreated back out into the hall, and then into the living room, savouring his coffee in small sips. He set himself up at the table with his laptop, intending to get at least _some_ of the work done that he’d left, or been too distracted by the email to finish.

He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.


	2. (that's where all the emails are)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this and the next chapter: References to drinking (Iago polishes off most of a bottle of wine on his own). Also, heavily implied adultery.

Iago was genuinely shocked when he went into work the next day and the entire place wasn’t collapsing around his ears.

It usually was, after one of his press conferences— and while there were plenty of questions from the press to field, or more likely to ignore, the office itself was relatively calm. The Nohr children had stayed quiet, and Garon hadn’t gone on one of his usual rampages.

If Iago were a less paranoid man, he might have said it was good luck. As it was, he was almost certain that it was more like the calm before the storm.

Still, he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, even if that meant soldiers were going to come pouring out of it later; the fact that he didn’t have to deal with the Nohr children’s nonsense while he was also concerned about his conversation with Hubert was a small blessing, at the very least.

The day passed mostly uneventfully, spent returning emails that were vastly more important than the mountain of reporter drivel that was clogging his inbox, writing a few carefully-worded ones to soothe any concerns on the part of some of Garon’s… Less _faithful_ but still important supporters, and being bothered by Zola time and time again to see if the statement he was drafting to send to anyone who had further questions was good enough.

By the time it was six o’clock, Iago had started losing focus— he had gotten all of his most important work out of the way and now couldn’t keep his brain from wandering to the meeting he was due to have in a few hours.

Maybe he should have asked Hubert to send him a copy of that email; it would have at least given him something to do, staring at it and trying to think of ways to counteract whatever his bitch of a mother had in mind.

Eventually, he just— gave up. Which was not something Iago was known for doing. More often than not, he was the first person into the office and the last one out. But there was no point in him sitting around and staring blankly at his computer.

“Zola.” He poked his head into Zola’s office as he passed it heading for the elevators. “When you’re finished drafting that statement, forward me a copy before you do anything with it. I’m heading out for the evening.”

“Sure thing, I’ll—” Zola’s head snapped up like it had taken him a second to process what he was saying. “Wait, what? Are you feeling alright?”

He was looking at him like he’d suddenly grown a second head, and Iago felt anger bubble up into his lungs. Was he not allowed to have a life?

Then again, he supposed he would be even _more_ insulted if someone tried to accuse him of not being dedicated enough to his job…

“I have some important business to take care of,” he said, glaring at Zola from the doorway, daring him to ask any further questions. “Just make sure everything doesn’t go completely to shit.”

“Y-yes, Iago…”

He could tell he had questions, but wisely, the only thing Zola said as he ducked his head and went back to focusing on his computer was, “Have a good night!”

Iago took the elevator down to the parking garage and climbed into his car. No Hans chauffeuring him home tonight; he’d planned to go straight from the office to the bar, and the fewer people who knew about the meeting, the better.

He drove home in contemplative silence without even the background noise of the radio to soothe him, but he didn’t especially need soothing. Paranoid was Iago’s default state, and it had served him well over the years; he’d honed himself to the point where it wasn’t anxiety that filled him at the thought of what was waiting for him, but determination to get it dealt with by whatever means necessary.

(And, if he was being honest with himself, the face to face meeting with Hubert was actually more nerve-wracking than the thought of what he was going to do about the troubling email…)

When he got home, he immediately beelined for the bathroom. He’d showered while getting ready for work in the morning, but after a long day, it couldn’t hurt to take another one.

He was definitely not just trying to distract himself for several hours.

After his shower had been drawn out about as long as he could manage, Iago went through the process of picking out his clothes, which at least provided him a much more ample distraction. He had little opportunity for it in the office, where he was expected to of course dress perfectly professionally to protect Garon’s image, but he always had a particular… _Interest_ in fashion, and rarely had a chance to do much with it, since his entire life revolved around his work.

Once that was done, though… There was little for him to do except sit on the couch, drum on his leg, and try and fail to watch the news.

Despite his best efforts, his thoughts started to quickly run out of control, drifting in many different directions. He of course tried to focus on the issue at hand— but it proved difficult when he didn’t know exactly what he was getting into.

He’d known something with that bitch was going to happen for a long time, but exactly what form it was going to take, he’d never been quite sure. Hubert would surely illuminate him when they were face to face, but in the meantime…

Instead, he found himself wondering why Hubert had _wanted_ to meet with him face to face. It was easy to say security, but he knew they both knew plenty of ways to stay perfectly secure without doing so. It wasn’t as though he was against the idea, but…

Well, they had both been absorbed in their work for so long that it had been nearly a year since the two of them had seen each other in person. Maybe that was the reason why? He wasn’t an especially sentimental person, and he didn’t think Hubert was either, but he supposed after a while it was only natural. And even though his own workload was as heavy as ever, he supposed Hubert’s had to be at least a bit lighter now that his employer was officially in office.

Iago was sure he had a long road ahead of him, but at least the people he was working with seemed much more competent than the people Iago had to work with every day.

Whatever the reason, he wasn’t unhappy about it. Two heads were better than one, and even though he was confident he could handle the issue on his own, it was always good to know he had another competent person on his side. After all, he was still going to have to do his _normal_ job at the same time— while pretending he didn’t have any other problems.

There were people who would gladly pounce on him like a school of piranhas if they smelled any blood in the water, any slightest hint of weakness. As far as the other people on Garon’s staff would know, there was absolutely nothing wrong.

Eventually, sitting and wondering and worrying managed to carry him to eight o’clock, and he figured Hubert wouldn’t mind if he arrived a little early…

And if he was perhaps a bit too— eager? Nervous? Both?— when grabbing his keys to head out, well. There was no one around to see it.

_“Do you… Know how late you’ll be?”_

It was the third time Bernadetta had asked him that question, and if it were anyone else Hubert would be starting to lose his patience. With her, though, it was hard to be angry with her— and even though he’d been exasperated by her antics when he was younger, they had both matured since then.

Now he was only… _Enamoured_.

Love would do that to you, he supposed.

“I’m not sure,” he replied honestly, speaking a little louder than normal since he was on speakerphone through his car bluetooth as he drove from the office to The Outrealms. “But almost certainly late enough that you shouldn’t stay up and wait for me. You have work in the morning.”

_“So do you!”_

“I’m used to running on less sleep than you. And this is important.”

There was a silence that made him wonder for a second if she’d hung up, or if he’d accidentally hung up on her, but then she made a Noise that told him she was just… _Worrying_.

As per usual.

_“You shouldn’t stress yourself out so much.”_

He would have called hypocrisy about that, but he figured it wasn’t worth the trouble when Bernadetta was already being very accommodating.

He’d told her that he had a family emergency and would be late coming home, because he had to get some extra work done at the office to make up for leaving the other night before he’d finished everything (though he’d worded it differently so she wouldn’t freak out and feel guilty about it) and would be leaving straight from work to meet up with someone.

He still hadn’t told her the full details of what was going on… But he planned on doing so as soon as he and Iago had a chance to sit and talk.

Hubert wasn’t the sort who volunteered information very easily, and even though he had… Gotten _better_ at being forthcoming with the people he cared about and trusted, it still took him a bit of time to warm up to the idea of telling someone about his personal problems. Meeting with Iago first would give him a chance to settle with what was going on. He always felt more comfortable when he had a _plan_ in mind.

He wouldn’t find talking about his family quite so nerve-wracking once he was sure how he was going to _deal_ with them— at least, that was what he kept telling himself.

“Relax, enjoy your evening, and get some sleep, Bernadetta,” Hubert said, trying not to sound exasperated. “I’ll be there when you wake up.”

_“...Alright, Hubert. Have a nice evening. I… I love you._

Hubert felt his heart flutter in his chest a little at hearing that, even though he had heard it many, many times before.

“...I love you too. Goodnight.”

He tapped the screen built into his dashboard to hang up the call, and the picture of Bernadetta that he had assigned to her in his phone flashed once and then disappeared.

The night was a bit chilly for spring, but he left the window down as he drove so he could enjoy a bit of fresh air, which was helping to clear his head. In no time at all he found himself pulling into the parking lot of The Outrealms.

Not interested in such luxuries, he had bypassed the valet entirely, but nodded curtly to him on his way in. He stopped at the coat check and headed inside, passing the wide bar with only a small nod to the bartender, who recognized him well enough to at least give him a proper, non-customer-service smile; she was well known for never forgetting a customer’s face.

If he hadn’t been a semi-regular at The Outrealms, he might have been more than a little surprised by the fact that the valet, coat check girl, and bartender were all completely identical— but that was just The Outrealms for you.

The bar was a well-known spot for the _quiet_ elite— no celebrities would ever grace its doors, but the people who did spend their time there were much more important than any celebrity could ever hope to be. They were the wealthy corporate overlords, the most important public servants, the creme de la creme in the political world. The Outrealms was where you went when you needed to grease the right palms or make the right friends— or even just to have a nice, secure place to have a private conversation.

So long as you could tolerate the fact that every employee looked exactly the same, with the same high red ponytail and gleam in her eye, and that they all insisted their name was Anna. But a few eccentricities were well worth the layer of security and privacy The Outrealms offered, in Hubert’s opinion.

He knew exactly where to find Iago, and though a small part of him was tempted to drag his feet just to give himself a few more moments to think of what to say, the larger and more logical part of his brain fought back the urge. He headed straight for the second floor, a fourth identical redheaded woman removing a velvet rope for him to pass.

Iago was, exactly as he had assumed, sitting at a private table at the back of the loft, nearest the doors. In warmer weather they would be left open to cut cooling costs, as The Outrealms backed onto a river that provided a nice cool breeze even on a hot summer night, but it was kept shut at the moment because of the stiff night chill.

If Iago was cold, though, he certainly wasn’t showing it— not the way he was dressed.

In every notable photo that existed of Iago Macbeth von Vestra— all of them professional, because much like himself, Iago had no interest in a social media presence, and as far as Hubert was aware his father had destroyed any physical reminder of him including pictures when Hubert was still just a child— he was wearing a perfectly pressed and fitted suit. Never a hair out of place, never a single thing about him that would give anyone any cause to doubt his employer… Except, perhaps, his personality, but Iago was the sort of person who got things done, not necessarily the sort of person who got them done _nicely_.

Anyone else would have thus been surprised to see him the way he was now, but Hubert had known him long enough not to be.

He was still dressed _tastefully_ — he never would have taken the chance on anyone catching him on his off time dressed in such a way that would shame his employer— but it was certainly _different_ from his usual… Look.

His sleek black pencil skirt ended just below the knee, perfectly modest, and was matched with a pair of simple black pumps and a lavender blouse. His makeup was subtle but very much there— the ridges of his cheekbones practically shimmered, and there was the faintest hint of purple dusting his eyelids.

When Edelgard had started her campaign in earnest, Hubert had started to help her with perfecting her image, as she had never been one with much interest in makeup or fashion but he knew just how much appearances could affect one’s standing— especially for a woman, no matter how unfair such a statement was. He had, in part, modeled her look after Iago; while society and its backwards thinking made it so that Iago couldn’t dress the way he wanted without risking damage to his reputation, at least in all but the most secure places (as The Outrealms promised to be), he’d always believed that his fashion choices were the ideal for how one should try to dress to project the image of both professionalism and elegance.

Far less impressive than his fashion choices was the half-filled glass of wine he was swirling around in one hand, looking dangerously close to spilling it… And judging by the light dusting of red on his pale cheeks, it wasn’t his first glass.

But, again, Hubert was more than used to Iago’s ways after so long. Men like them, working in the kinds of environments they did, they needed some way to release that tension.

Hubert was still trying to figure out what his way was. He wasn’t sure he approved of Iago’s particular method, but he’d never seen him get anything more than tipsy, especially when at any moment he could be called back to work, so at least he didn’t feel like he had to worry about his health.

“Iago,” he said, as though Iago hadn’t noticed him from the time he had walked in— he was an observant man, and the two of them were alone up here, which was exactly how they both wanted it. They had sensitive matters to discuss, after all.

“Hubert.” Iago gestured with his wine glass, which again threatened to spill as he did so, to the other empty seat at the table.

Hubert sat down without fanfare. If it were anyone else, he might have thought of it as a typical negotiation tactic. It was hard to break that way of thinking, in fact. But Iago was… _Special_ , he supposed.

There was a bottle of wine chilling in an ice bath and a second wine glass sitting on his side of the table. Hubert lifted the wine bottle so he could confirm that there was, in fact, at least two glasses worth of wine missing— maybe three, but Iago didn’t seem that drunk, so either it was only his second glass or he’d been sitting there for longer than Hubert thought.

“Help yourself,” Iago said, and Hubert shook his head.

“I drove here.”

“Hm. More for me, then.”

“You’re not going to have any trouble getting home, are you?”

“I left my car at home. I took a cab here.”

Hubert nodded. He’d suspected as much, but he always had to make sure.

For the longest time, he’d only cared about two people; Edelgard, and, though he had a hard time admitting it sometimes, Iago. That had obviously changed, but he couldn’t ignore the feeling that if he didn’t worry about Iago…

Well, that wasn’t something for him to linger on.

They could have sat there making somewhat awkward small talk, but neither of them was that sort of person. Instead, while Iago took another sip of his wine, Hubert pulled out his phone— his work phone, since his mother had sent the email to his work email, just to be extra irritating— and opened it, handing it to Iago.

Iago took the phone from him and read in silence, eyes barely moving as he skimmed through the email. Hubert watched his expression carefully.

Iago was good at disguising his expressions— it was necessary in their line of work. He could summon a smile at will, and keep his expression neutral even under great pressure.

Despite that, Iago was not, as most might assume, an unemotional person like Hubert was. Hubert had trained himself into a careful sort of neutrality simply by training himself to keep his emotions in check in _all_ situations, political _or_ personal. Since he had been called a meek child (usually as an insult by his father, who didn’t think he was assertive enough to carry on his family’s political legacy), it hadn’t been hard to transition from being a shy child to an adult who kept their emotions firmly to themselves.

In a way, he almost thought he had it _easier_ than Iago. He was the sort of person for whom keeping his emotions in check came naturally, even if he had to train himself to do so in a specific way. Iago, on the other hand…

The distasteful sneer on his face, almost cartoonishly exaggerated, said all that it needed to.

“That petty _bitch_.”

Most people— or at least a lot of people— would probably have been insulted at hearing their mother being called a bitch. Thankfully, Hubert had never really cared.

After all, his mother had never cared about _him_ , so why should he give her the satisfaction?

“What does she hope to achieve by pulling a stunt like this?” He held Hubert’s phone back out to him, and Hubert took it and, before tucking it back into his pocket, forwarded the email to Iago’s non-professional email address.

“I doubt she’s even thought about it that much,” he said with a scoff. “She probably hasn’t thought any farther than making your life miserable.”

“I wonder why she sent you a warning…”

“I doubt she realizes we still keep in touch. I haven’t spoken to her or my father since I graduated, after all.” Another scoff, and he shook his head along with it. “Maybe it was her way of trying to be a decent mother for once in her life, so I wouldn’t end up ‘shocked’ by the news when I first heard it.”

As though Hubert hadn’t known her ‘deep, dark secret’ for years.

“We’ve both been in the public eye a lot lately. That must have been what motivated her to take action _now_ , of all times.”

He didn’t usually find much reason to be _grateful_ towards his mother, but he was at least glad that she hadn’t tried to pull this stunt while he was still wrapped up in the middle of an election campaign. There was still so, _so_ much work to be done, now that Edelgard had won, but in the middle of it all there would have been no meeting like this. He would have had to let Iago fend for himself.

“I guess the only real question is, what are we going to do about it?”

Iago had clearly been thinking about that as much as he had, because he immediately responded with, “She won’t be swayed by a bribe, and if she’s so willing to go public with this information, either your father already knows or she’s past the point of caring.”

“Given how abruptly his opinion of me shifted even before I started ‘misappropriating’ my trust fund, I’d say he already knows.”

Iago nodded even as he was helping himself to another swallow of wine. Hubert wondered whether it would be amusing to see him spill wine all over himself, or whether it would just be embarrassing.

It would probably ruin his lovely blouse, though. So not only did Hubert hope it wouldn’t happen, he was sure Iago wouldn’t _allow_ it to happen.

“I suppose the main issue is that she doesn’t _want_ anything,” Iago said with a deep, dramatic sigh, transferring his wine glass to his off hand so he could put his dominant one on the table and tap his long nails rhythmically against the tabletop.

“Mm. She’s not precisely _blackmailing_ you,” Hubert agreed.

His mother wasn’t looking for anything that Iago was willing to provide— all she wanted was to make his life difficult and damage his reputation, and quite possibly his career.

In short, she wanted to hit him where it hurt.

A silence fell between them— not quite a comfortable one, given the circumstances, but a contemplative one as both of them focused their mental energy on the situation at hand, rather than small talk.

The reason they didn’t speak much had nothing to do with how good their relationship was… It had _everything_ to do with the fact that the two of them had never seen any reason for pointless chatter. They talked when they had something to talk about, plain and simple.

Hubert wished he’d come to this little meeting with more concrete ideas— he hated feeling like he was unable to contribute. But he supposed they were both simply too busy with their lives otherwise to spend much time thinking about this sort of thing, no matter how important it may be.

To Hubert, Edelgard’s success would always be far more important than his own. If something happened where his own reputation might damage hers, he would resign without a second thought no matter how much she might try to convince him otherwise… Especially now that there were other people he could trust to ensure her success.

He assumed Iago felt the same about Garon— but at the same time, Hubert couldn’t even imagine Iago without his job.

“We could try to convince people she’s lying,” Hubert suggested. “She has no concrete evidence to back up her claims, after all.”

“That we know of,” Iago said. “And while I’m not opposed to _bending_ the truth, going to such lengths will only make me look worse if people discover she _is_ telling the truth.”

Hubert nodded. It was a complicated game, trying to balance exactly how much truth you could tell with exactly how many lies and half-truths you could get away with. The truth could be dangerous, but being caught in a lie could be absolutely disastrous.

The only people who could get away with lies were the old guard. Iago’s employer would not be the least bit inconvenienced by being caught in a lie; he was protected by age, by the corrupt government he ran, by a dedicated group of voters who would vouch for him no matter what horrors he thought to inflict.

Not that Hubert would say any of that out loud, of course; he couldn’t think of any quicker way to poison his relationship with Iago than to say something like that about Garon Nohr. He worshipped the ground the man walked on, and had since before Hubert was born.

Besides, any problems he had with the man would hardly be solved by complaining about them to his most staunch supporter; that was why he had put all of his faith into Edelgard and had spent every ounce of time and energy for the past several years supporting and elevating her.

He might not have had the charisma to go into politics on his own, but he knew how to support someone from the shadows. Edelgard would change the way things worked. He knew that as sure as he knew his own name.

And, well. Garon wouldn’t serve to suffer from one of his campaign managers and biggest supporters being caught out in a lie, but Iago would. Garon Nohr was the center of Iago’s entire universe; Hubert very much doubted the man in question would have a second thought about hanging him out to dry, though. Rewarding loyalty didn’t exactly seem like his forte.

Hubert sat back in his chair. He almost wished he had his own glass of wine; not because he had any interest in getting to the same sort of state as Iago, but because it would give him something to do with his hands that wasn’t resting them in his lap or drumming on the table like Iago had been doing.

“I suppose…” He hummed in the back of his throat. “There is always the _obvious_ option.”

Iago turned to him and raised an eyebrow.

“You could simply let it happen.”

The other eyebrow raised to join the first.

“I assume you’re going to explain.”

“Simple. This sort of thing counts on you making a bigger deal of it than it already is, which is exactly what you’d be doing by trying to keep the information from getting out, or by trying to deny it.” Hubert rested his elbow on the armrest of the chair, and leaned into it while still watching Iago plainly. “It’s a personal indiscretion from over twenty years ago, dragged into the light by a desperate, hostile woman who is every bit as much at fault as you are. If you just let it roll off your back, sooner or later people will forget about it entirely. Half the fun is seeing the accused lose control of their emotions.”

After all, despite being married to a noteworthy political fixer, his mother was no politician and had very little interest in such things. She was only looking to hurt Iago, humiliate him. If he didn’t react, he would deprive her of that satisfaction, _and_ his reputation wouldn’t suffer nearly as much— if at all.

It amused Hubert to think that his mother’s last ditch attempt at being a half-decent parent was what was ultimately going to ruin her entire plan. She either severely underestimated him or overestimated him— he wasn’t sure which.

He watched Iago go through a face journey as he considered Hubert’s suggestion. Hubert almost expected him to reject it outright. Iago was a very dramatic man.

Seconds ticked on until finally, and surprisingly, Iago said, “That might actually work.”

“You did teach me everything you know,” Hubert said with a chuckle.

“Isn’t that supposed to be ‘you taught me everything _I_ know’?”

“Maybe, but we both know that wouldn’t be the truth.”

“You’re such a brat.”

The back-and-forth came easily enough to them. Anyone else dealing such a boastful insult to Iago would have probably been dragged out and tossed into the streets, but Hubert knew he was privileged when it came to Iago, and he wasn’t afraid to take advantage of that at times, even just for his own amusement.

It was perfectly natural, after all, for a father and son to joke and tease and act casually with each other.


	3. not drunk enough for this

Iago was probably one too many glasses of wine down to be making any important decisions, but fuck it. He was far from drunk and he knew his own limits.

Hubert was smart enough to manage thinking for the both of them, anyway. And every bit as pragmatic and cruel as he was, when the situation called for it.

Iago was proud.

They talked for a bit about Hubert’s suggestion, but in the end it was mostly obvious. Thanks to Hubert, Iago knew that the people who would do anything to tear down his or Garon’s reputation would soon know that twenty-six years ago he had an ill-considered affair with his prestigious and well-respected brother’s wife, and had an illegitimate child with her.

None of it had anything to do with Garon, his politics, or Iago’s ability to do his job, but people never cared about that. They would look for any reason to tear him down.

“They’re like vultures, the lot of them,” he said bitterly.

Hubert nodded, either because he understood the sentiment or because he was just trying to humour Iago. He wasn’t sure how coherent he was with half a bottle of wine in him, but this was his one chance to relax, and between his job and this ridiculous situation with Hubert’s bitch of a mother, he _needed_ it.

At some point they had moved from the second floor lounge and onto the balcony, despite the chill in the air; the alcohol was starting to get to him, making him feel feverish, and the last thing he wanted was to sweat all over his _good_ clothes.

Hubert didn’t seem to mind the chill, leaning against the railing and staring out across the water with a pensive expression. Iago had abandoned his wine inside, figuring he’d had enough for one night, but he was wishing now that he’d kept it just to have something to do with his hands.

He sighed as he leaned back against the same railing Hubert was leaning forward against, rolling his neck to try and ease the tension that had settled there and in his shoulders from all of the stress.

If there was anything Iago hated more than not having all of the information he needed— things like when the information was going to break to the public— he was in absolutely no rush to discover it.

“I don’t deal with the press much these days,” Hubert admitted, snapping Iago out of his stressed-out daze immediately.

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow and looked over at Hubert. “And why is that?”

“There are… Other people in our ranks far more qualified for that sort of work.”

“Really? You always hated delegating work. What was it that you told me? ‘I can’t expect anyone to do it correctly but me.’”

“Don’t get so smug. I learned every one of those bad attitudes from you, after all.”

“Oh, don’t go blaming _me_ for that. I delegate just fine, thanks.”

They could have gone back and forth like that all night; if it were anyone else, Iago would have gotten annoyed, but he figured that Hubert had earned the right to be a little cheeky with him, at least in private.

Hubert waved off his last statement. “I stand by what I said at the time; back then, I couldn’t expect anyone else to do it without screwing it up. But Ferdinand has proven himself talented enough at talking circles around people for me to trust him with the task.”

“Ludwig von Aegir’s boy?”

“One and the same. Though thankfully the only thing he got from his father was his ego. Unlike that blowhard, he actually has skills to back it up.”

That was news to Iago; in fact, he could vividly remember Hubert complaining about being saddled with him, when Edelgard’s campaign had been in its infancy, almost straight out of their university days. Hearing him talk about him in such a positive way was almost jarring.

It also made Iago realize that it really _had_ been a long time since they’d gotten a chance to talk. That was just the reality of their worlds, though— being the right-hand to a controversial politician, whether young and radical or well-established, was far more than a full-time job… It was a lifestyle. He was lucky that things had quieted down enough that he could slip away for an evening…

He looked over at Hubert, watching him as he stared out across the water, and tried to remember when the last time they’d had a chance to just… _Talk_ like this. Sure, it had started because of the stupid threat Hubert’s mother had pulled, but now that they had that matter settled, there was no reason to be there except to just _Catch up_.

While he was distracted by those thoughts, Hubert started fiddling with something, looking lost in his own thoughts— and it took Iago a second too long to realize that what he was fiddling with was a ring on his own finger.

“...Ah. No wonder you’ve calmed down so much.” He hummed in the back of his throat. “What’s their name?”

“Hm?”

Hubert looked up from staring at nothing and followed Iago’s line of sight to his hand, which he suddenly covered up.

“Oh, please. You’re not going to tell me you’re embarrassed all of a sudden, are you? Or that you’re trying to keep a secret from _me_ of all people?”

“I— no, of course not. I just thought— I thought I’d told you. I’m sorry.”

Where Hubert had tensed up as soon as he’d noticed the ring, he relaxed again and turned so he was also leaning back against the railing instead of leaning over it. He rolled his neck and let his head fall back.

It was almost disturbingly casual for Hubert, and that was how Iago knew just how stressed out he was… But then, that was just the norm for the two of them, wasn’t it?

“The last thing you have to do is apologize to _me_ ,” Iago said, although truth be told he was a little hurt that apparently it wasn’t as recent a development as he thought, if Hubert was getting shy all of a sudden. “I’m glad one of us has a personal life, at the very least.”

“If it’s any comfort, I met her through work.”

“Of course. How else would you meet anyone?”

“...Her name is Bernadetta,” Hubert said, sounding almost… _Hesitant_.

Iago supposed he couldn’t blame him. There were some things a person just wanted to keep private. They were father and son, according to genetics, but both of them were devoted to their jobs more than anything. Their jobs, by necessity, made the two of them incredibly paranoid, especially when it came to important, personal things—

_Things like a secret fiance_ , he thought.

“She was part of Edelgard’s campaign in the early days, mostly doing graphic design and copy editing— you know, behind the scenes things.”

Iago nodded, half listening to Hubert and half trying to remember where he had heard the name before. Had Hubert mentioned her in the past? Iago was normally good with names, but he _had_ been known to completely forget things that he thought were irrelevant…

“Now that the campaign is over, she’s found another line of work?”

“She still helps on occasion. She does freelance work.” Hubert cleared his throat. “Mostly from home. She’s… Not very social.”

That, of all things, was what made everything suddenly fall into place.

“The _Varley_ girl?!”

He must have been louder than he intended, because even the usually composed Hubert look startled and took a sudden step back from the railing.

Maybe he _had_ had a bit too much to drink…

“...yes. You know her?”

“I knew her father, a long time ago.” At first he tried to resist the urge to cross himself at the thought, but he gave in. Judging by the look on Hubert’s face, he understood perfectly. “From what I know about her, ‘not very social’ would be putting it mildly.”

“She’s… Gotten better,” Hubert said in that tone of voice that made it obvious he wasn’t even _trying_ to lie convincingly. “Is it really so surprising?”

“You just don’t seem like the type to have much patience for wallflowers.” He could practically see the gears in Hubert’s head turning, preparing some kind of a rebuttal, so he raised a hand and waved it idly. “I’m happy for you, though, and all that. Don’t forget to invite me to the actual wedding.”

“I’ll try not to let it slip my mind.”

A sudden cold breeze rolled in off the lake, making Iago shiver; he was definitely not dressed for the weather, but he hadn’t been about to pass up a rare opportunity to get dressed up because of something like a _chill_.

“Have you ever thought about it?”

When he looked back up, Hubert was staring out across the water again. He was playing idly with his engagement ring. Iago was almost tempted to label it a nervous habit.

“About what?”

“About getting married.”

Iago literally laughed out loud.

“I’m glad I’m so amusing to you.”

“I would say you’re not, not that’s _hilarious_ ,” Iago deadpanned, once again wishing he still had his wine, although for different reasons now. “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘I’m married to my job’?”

“Mm. I used that one, too. It didn’t work for long.”

Iago shook his head and chuckled.

“...the thought has crossed my mind once or twice,” he admitted, figuring he at least owed Hubert the truth. “For about half a second, before I remember what a noxious bitch your mother was and suddenly recall why I gave up on the entire idea of romance _years_ ago.”

There were… _Other_ reasons, of course. And it wasn’t as though he hadn’t given romance a fair shot a few times, to mostly disastrous results. But he wasn’t interested in discussing his love life in detail with his nephew-son.

“Language.”

“Shove it,” he said with a smile and no bite behind it. “She’s trying to ruin my life, I’m allowed to call her whatever I want. And besides, the only good thing she’s done for the world is bring you into it.”

It was probably the sappiest thing he had ever said, and was ever likely to say, but the warmth of the wine and the chill of the air left him too loose and languid to care.

Hubert said nothing. Iago looked at him out of the corner of his eye. Had that bit of emotional vulnerability been too much for him? He couldn’t tell based on the look on his face, which had been pulled back into his usual careful neutrality, but the silence didn’t feel like their usual comfortable silence.

“Well,” he said, almost _reluctantly_. “For what it’s worth, even when I still thought you were my uncle, you were a far better father than Othello von Vestra could even _pretend_ to be.”

That was how Iago knew he really had had too much to drink; it took a long second for Hubert’s words to sink in, and after that, he felt… _Tears_ start prinkling at the corners of his eyes.

Well, _that_ wouldn’t do. Iago wasn’t the crying type. He _definitely_ wasn’t the type to start crying in front of _Hubert_ , who would probably ask if he’d had more to drink than he was letting on. So he took a deep breath through his nose, cleared his throat, and said,

“Well. If that’s the case, then don’t you think the least you can do is introduce me to your fiancee?”

Hubert looked at him like he was pointing a gun in his face.

“Oh, come on.” Iago rolled his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. Is it really such a terrible suggestion?”

“Bernadetta takes a long time to warm up to people,” Hubert said, in the slow, careful tone of voice that said he was trying his best to be diplomatic; if _that_ was his best attempt, though, Iago could see why he’d passed on his duties. “You might be… A bit _too much_ for her.”

“I _can_ be nice, you know,” he said with a snort. When Hubert raised an eyebrow at him, he levelled him with a flat glare. “I _choose_ not to be. People generally aren’t worth the effort. But if you care about her enough to be _marrying_ her, then I suppose it’s worth it for once.”

“...Alright then. I… Suppose we can arrange something.” Hubert cleared his throat. “It might take a while. To find the time.”

Iago snorted. “Tell me about it. I’m actually scared to look at my phone when I get back home.”

“You left your _phone_ at _home_?”

“My assistant publicist is incredibly paranoid. If I answer his eight million constant text messages, it only encourages him.”

Well, that was only a half truth. In all honesty, Iago had just… Wanted one single night where he didn’t have to carry the entirety of Garon’s reputation on his shoulders, especially a night where he was both already dealing with complicated personal matters _and_ a night where he was getting a chance to spend time with Hubert for the first time in a long time. It was selfish, and definitely one emotional revelation too many for one night, so he left it at that.

He was sure Hubert had better things to do than _pitying_ him, at any rate. And it wasn’t like his own life was likely any better. Iago knew he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, just like Iago wouldn’t, but that didn’t make the work itself any easier.

He hadn’t been kidding about being married to his work.

“We’ll get a time and place figured out later,” he said with a wave of his hand. “We’ll have dinner.”

Dinner meant plenty of opportunities to avoid conversation while stuffing your face, after all— which he had a feeling all parties would appreciate for a variety of different reasons.

“I suppose she might get a _little_ curious about you when she sees the news,” Hubert said, and Iago sighed.

“She won’t be the only one,” he said, and shivered again at another cool breeze coming in off the water. He put an arm around Hubert’s shoulders, guiding him back towards the doors. “Let’s get back inside. I think I need a few more drinks before I’m ready to deal with all of this.”

And he still had the rest of that bottle of wine to do the job.


	4. epilogue

_“—and speaking of local politicians, scandal erupted today when a social media post made by Freyja von Vestra, wife of Adrestian counsellor Othello von Vestra, revealed a personal family secret implicating Othello’s younger brother_ Iago _von Vestra in a sex scandal._

_“Iago von Vestra, long time publicist and head of services for Senator Garon Nohr, has been making many newsworthy appearances as family unrest has broken out between the Senator and his politically active children. But Mr. Vestra seems to be no stranger to family unrest, as the post made from Freyja von Vestra’s verified Twitter account states that, according to recent DNA testing, he is the true biological father of her son, Hubert von Vestra. Here is what Iago von Vestra had to say.”_

The image on screen changed from the reporter sitting behind her desk to a live feed of Iago sitting at his desk in his office, in lieu of a proper press conference setup. He spent a few moments looking away from the camera, seemingly checking something on his screen, before folding his hands together and looking directly into the camera.

_“I’ve been asked by several sources to address the comment made by my sister-in-law, Freyja von Vestra, early this morning. Given the personal nature of this matter, I felt it was inappropriate to dedicate a press conference or anything like that, but this can be considered my official statement._

_“What Freyja has stated is, to the best of my knowledge, true. Twenty-seven years ago, she and I had an affair shortly before the well-known public fallout between myself and my brother, which occurred for unrelated reasons, due to an issue regarding family inheritance. I had no knowledge of any DNA testing that was done, but I was aware that, based on timing alone, there was a very real possibility that Hubert could be my son, rather than my brother’s._

_“To anyone asking how this reflects upon my position as part of Senator Nohr’s staff, I would like to reiterate that this is a personal issue between myself and my family, from several decades in the past. It in no way reflects my current personal values, nevermind my political positioning, and in no way has anything to do with Senator Nohr, his values, or his campaign._

_“I would ask everyone to be respectful of my privacy, that of my family, and especially that of Senator Nohr. If there are any further questions, I ask that you reach out on social media or by email at—”_

The email address went in one ear and out the other, and then suddenly the reporter was back on screen.

_“Iago von Vestra has released no more official comments, but our team has reached out with questions, and we will update this story as it continues. Othello von Vestra has been unable to be reached for comment._

_“And in other news—”_

Hubert navigated away from the live news feed, taking a sip of his coffee as he opened up Twitter and started scrolling through it.

He was impressed, genuinely— though he supposed he shouldn’t have been. Iago was a professional. There were a few carefully screened comments on Twitter to make it clear he was standing behind his official statement and not hiding, but not enough to make it look like he was trying to make a bigger deal out of it than it needed to be. He was keeping the situation calm and casual.

Hubert was certain neither of his parents had either of his phone numbers, but he had gone ahead and blocked every number he could think of that was even vaguely associated with either of them as a cautionary measure.

When his phone did ring— his _personal_ line— he went ahead and answered it, even when the screen proclaimed it an unnamed number.

“Good job on the statement,” he said, not even _needing_ to know who was calling.

_“I hated every second of it.”_ He could _hear_ the scorn in Iago’s voice. _“But luckily, it seems you were right. Everything looks like it’s poised to blow over quickly.”_

“As you always remind me, I learned from the best.”

_“What about you? Has anyone been bothering you?”_

“I’ve gotten a few phone calls, an email or two, and had to have a long chat with Edelgard, but nothing out of the ordinary, and certainly nothing I can’t handle.”

Well, and a conversation that had involved a lot of shocked yelling on Ferdinand’s part. Bernadetta hadn’t been _that_ shocked, but he had a feeling it just hadn’t sunk in properly.

_“And your parents…? Or, well. You know what I mean.”_

“I haven’t heard from them. And I don’t plan to any time soon. If I could go the rest of my life without talking to either of them, it would be too soon.”

_“That’s my boy.”_

“Please tell me you’re not going to start trying to act all ‘fatherly’ now that the news has broken.”

_“Don’t think I can play the part?”_

“Don’t make me take back what I said about you.”

_“Relax, I don’t plan on sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. I just wanted to call and say… Thank you. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have been nearly as well prepared for this nightmare.”_

“I think I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve heard you say the words ‘thank you’.”

_“Well, with that attitude, I can guarantee you’re going to hear them a lot less in the future.”_

Hubert shook his head and rolled his eyes, even though no one was going to see him alone in his office.

_“I’ll let you get back to work,”_ Iago said. _“I’m sure you have plenty of it.”_

“And from the sounds of it, you and your _assistant_ are going to have plenty of emails to be drafting.”

Iago made a sound on the other end of the line that was very much like a groan that desperately wanted to be a frustrated scream.

“In _better_ news,” he said, wanting to abruptly change the subject before Iago devolved into complaints about the situation. “I’ll be asking Bernadetta about dinner tonight, so if all goes well, I should have an answer for you tomorrow morning about when we’ll be free. Provided you’ll have a chance to get away.”

_“I’ll_ make _the time,”_ Iago said firmly. _“As long as Garon’s children don’t start causing any more chaos, the biggest problems I have at the moment are my own, and making sure the rest of my team doesn’t cause more of them than they solve.”_

Hubert chuckled. There was a time when he would have said exactly the same thing. His life was at least a _little_ easier since he’d learned to release the reins a bit and trust in the others…

“Well, in that case, we can make plans tomorrow. I’ll call you then.”

_“Talk to you tomorrow, Hubert.”_

“Goodnight, Iago.”

He’d hardly hung up when there was a knock at his office door, and unlike Bernadetta who always waited patiently to be invited in, Dorothea had no problem sticking her head on after half a beat.

“Work hours are over, Hubie,” she reminded him gently. “And your fiancee is waiting downstairs. You’d better not keep her waiting…”

Dorothea gave a wink to accent her gentle threat. She’d made it very clear when he and Bernadetta had started dating that if he did anything to hurt her in any way, she would make sure he lived to regret it.

He liked Dorothea.

“I’m going, don’t worry,” he assured her with a sigh as he tucked his phone away, stood, and rolled his shoulders. “Just finishing up some last minute business. Tell Bernadetta I’ll be downstairs in a few minutes.”

“Will do, chief.” Dorothea gave him a half-mocking salute and slipped back out of his office.

Hubert turned to grab his coat, not wanting to leave Bernadetta waiting even without Dorothea’s threat hanging over him— but he stopped a moment to look at the picture he’d put up on top of his filing cabinet, now that he didn’t have to worry about people asking too many questions about him and Iago.

It was a picture of his graduation. His parents had of course not shown up; they hadn’t been on speaking terms at the time. Hubert had hardly wanted to go himself, but Edelgard and their other friends had told him he couldn’t just _skip_ his own graduation ceremony— even though it had mostly just been sitting around in uncomfortable heat and listening to speakers he not only didn’t care about, but mostly actively hated.

But there he was, in his cap and gown— no bouquet of flowers (like the one he’d bought for Edelgard two years later), but Dorothea had been running around insisting on taking pictures of everyone with their family, and the one person who had shown up was his “uncle”

They look looked sweaty, uncomfortable, and red in the face— it had been a long, hot day— and they weren’t smiling at the camera so much as _scowling_ at it— but Iago had his arm around Hubert’s shoulder, and he had come along for dinner with Edelgard afterwards, and had told Hubert he was proud of him… Along with not a few unkind words about his father and warnings not to end up like him, which Hubert of course had never had any intentions of doing.

He adjusted the frame so it was sitting perfectly on the filing cabinet, slipped on his coat, and even remembered to turn off the lights on his way out.


End file.
